A Wizard in a Tree and an Elfling Out of Bed
by Mashpotatoe Queen
Summary: Thranduil is a father who has to deal with the troublesome pranks of his young son, Legolas just wants to go outside and be amongst his beloved trees, and Gandalf is far too mischievous for his own good. The palace kitchens will never be the same again... (Featuring adorable baby Legolas, overprotective Thranduil, meddlesome Gandalf, and Fluff galore!)


**I should be working on Of Letters and Fellowships and Everything in Between- which is experiencing a delay but is not being abandoned- but I'm super busy this week and have little to know time. This story was already typed up, just unedited, and so I decided to post it in one of my rare free moments.**

 **This story is based off of a little section of one of my other stories, A Helping Hand, because a lot of people requested me to write it. However, it is completely stand alone. Neril, gginsc, The Grandeurs of Despair, SelarahMorgan, WriterGirl7673, and Andy the willow tree, it's been a while, but this is for you guys!**

 **Thank you for taking the time to read A Wizard in a Tree and an Elfling Out of Bed, and I hope you all enjoy!**

 **...**

A small elfling giggled as he fled through the winding corridors of Greenwood, his joyous laughter echoing through the halls. Behind him, an entourage of maids and servants chased, their expressions varying from amused to pained.

They were fast, with their unfairly long legs, but that was okay; Legolas was faster, and he knew all the shortcuts.

They would not be catching him, not today.

Breath coming fast and eyes wide with delight, the elfling glanced behind him in an attempt to see how far his pursuit was. Because of this, he did not see a tall figure step out of the shadows until he crashed into its tall sturdy legs.

Legolas fell backwards onto his back, his gaze tilting higher and higher until he met the face of the obstacle, a pout already forming on his lips.

King Thranduil stared back, his expression set in stone.

With one swooping gesture, the elder picked up his squirming son, ignoring all the protests that came from the action. He held firm, and stared the blonde with steel in his eyes.

Legolas should have felt bad, he should have apologized or felt scared at his Ada's reprimanding glare. But he did not, could not, for he was far too fascinated by his father's hair.

His father's hair, which was a lovely shade of bright, neon pink.

The servants and maids came barreling around the corner, but they too came to a halting stop when they saw their monarch, glorious hair and all, holding the runaway they had been trying so hard to catch.

Legolas turned around in his father's arms and gave a little wave to the gaping entourage.

Thranduil shot them a single glare, and they all hurried back the way from which they had come. All were relieved that their duty was over, and ashamed that they had failed in actually achieving said duty.

(It was not entirely their fault, however; the young prince was small, but he was also very fast and very, very smart.)

* * *

Legolas was bored. He was bored and tired and he missed his Ada, whom he had not seen since the day of the prank. With a dramatic sigh, he rolled over on his bed and stared longingly out the window, watching as a bird flittered across the brilliantly blue sky and landed in a distant tree.

How he wished he could join that bird!

It was day three of his imprisonment, and day three of his Ada's lovely pink hair. No matter what the King did, the dye would not wash off, and so he had banished his son to his room until a cure for the embarrassing malady could be found. Already, a letter had been sent to Rivendell in hopes that Elrond would know how to return Thranduil to his natural blonde, for the young trouble maker had admitted that the dye had come from the elf lords own troublesome duo: Elladan and Elrohir.

The punishment was not actually so very cruel. Within the elfling's room was a myriad of toys to play with, and a constant supply of food and drinks were brought up from the kitchen. He did not have to go to bed early, and the various elves that came and went from the room sometimes paused in their duties to chat with him. All in all, he was well off.

But Legolas was a free spirit. He belonged in the outside world, amidst the trees and under the stars, not cooped up inside. He felt most at peace in the arms of nature, and never had he been separated from his beloved leafy friends for so long. Already, he felt bundles of anxious energy rushing up and down his limbs, and a searing yearning burned through his soul.

He wanted to go outside. He _needed_ to go outside.

But he could not- _he could not_ \- and so he stayed in his bedroom, which was large and spacious, but not large and spacious enough; the walls loomed in on the young blonde, making the space seem so much smaller than it truly was.

With a keening whine, Legolas rushed to the large window that encompassed nearly an entire wall. He pressed himself against the glass, trying to escape the small, far too small, space and leap into the world beyond.

But his escape was not actually at hand, for the window was locked, and no willing or wishing would vanish such an obstacle away.

His hopes crushed, the blonde curled up into a small ball and watched as the world went by, his desperation for release mounting with every moment.

Little did he know, he would not have to wait long.

* * *

Legolas woke up to a peculiar smell.

It was a horrid odor, one that tickled his nose and made his brows furrow, and it most definitely did _not_ belong in his room. He shifted, trying to escape the disturbance, and turned away, only to fall to the ground with a flail.

Releasing a loud yelp, the young blonde jolted awake.

He blinked rapidly and the world came into focus. Wearily, the elfling looked around the room.

His cautious expression turned into one with excitement when he spotted the tall figure, which was the source of the miserable smell, that stood by the window, examining the locks that held it in place.

"Mithrandir!"

Legolas leapt from his bed and rushed to the wizard, so very happy to see the elder once more. For the arrival of Gandalf meant the arrival of adventures and amusement, and he was in desperate need of some after the last few dreary days.

"Mithrandir! What are you doin-"

The bearded man turned on the youth, his eyes sparkling and a finger on his lips, silencing the young blonde with urgent hushing noises.

"Come now, Legolas, you must be quiet. The guards do not know I am here."

The elfling nodded fervently, and repeated his questions once more, but in a hushed whisper that matched the wizard's.

"But what are you doing here, Mithrandir? How'd you get past the guards?"

Gandalf grinned mischievously once more, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

"A wizard never reveals his secrets, young Greanleaf. As for why I am here… To help you escape, of course!"

Brilliant blue orbs widened in excitement, and the blonde threw himself at the the elder, who caught the younger with a stifled grunt.

"Really!? Oh, please say yes, Mithrandir! It's terrible in here!"

Legolas leaned in closer, hiding his head in the crook of the wizard's neck and mumbling something indecipherable.

Gandalf frowned.

"What was that? I'm afraid I didn't hear…"

A hint of blue peaked upwards.

"The walls are trying to eat me, Mithrandir! I'm sure of it. They keep creeping closer and closer, and soon they will consume me in a giant gulp!"

The words were dramatic and accompanied with the blonde burying his way back into the elder's neck, but real fear was hidden in those innocent eyes, and the wizard made note to discuss keeping young elflings in enclosed places for long periods of time with Thranduil at a later date, and how it would not be wise to do so.

Instead of sharing his concerns and the heavy thoughts that weighed down his mind, Gandalf leaned backwards so that he could once more meet Legolas' eyes and smiled.

"Then I suppose we must escape now, while we have the chance!"

The elfling grinned, but his lips quickly turned downward.

"But Mithrandir, how will we get out?"

The young blonde squirmed out of his captor's grasp, landing on the floor silently and running around the room, small fingers tracing the walls and furniture, as if expecting a hidden passageway to reveal itself. He was interrupted by amused voice of Gandalf.

"Come, Legolas, we shall find no secrets hidden away through the floors and walls, we must make our way through the window."

Legolas craned his neck, his face the picture of uncertainty mixed with incredulous doubt.

"But Mithrandir, the window is _locked_..."

The wizard smiled, for the solution to the problem had already been found.

"Ah, but I have _unlocked_ it!"

Immediately, all worries vanished from the blonde's youthful face, anticipation and eagerness chasing them away. Without another word, Legolas rushed to the barrier and swung it wide open, breathing in the fresh night's air as if it was the most glorious thing in the whole wide world.

Who knows, for the elfling, it may just be.

And then Legolas did something that gave Gandalf quite a fright: he leapt off the window sill and into the night's embrace.

The wizard sprang forwards, only to let loose a relieved laugh when he spotted a head of gold amidst the branches of tree that rested just to the side of the window. The elfling gave a cheerful wave from his perch, paying no heed to the dangerous drop that awaited him should he slip.

"Eager, aren't you?"

He received only a happy giggle in response.

With a sigh, Gandalf pulled up his robes and stuck his hat more firmly upon his head. Then he too clambered upon the sill, staff grasped tightly in hand. He frowned and let loose a quiet humph, for he was far more uncertain than an elf when it came to heights and trees.

"Come, Mithrandir! Have no fear, my friend won't let you fall!"

But it appeared as if he would have no choice, unless he was willing to risk disappointing a certain young elf, which he was not. And so he took a deep breath and, with a flying leap, crashed into the branches.

The old tree swayed, unused to such weight in its boughs, but stood firm. The wizard for his part held tight to the trunk, a series of gruff curses slewing from his lips.

The elfling looked down from his higher branch- far more content now that he was amidst his beloved trees once more- curiosity plastered upon his youthful features.

"What does that mean, Mithrandir?"

Gandalf froze.

"Nothing, my dear boy, nothing... though it would do you well not to repeat them."

Legolas nodded empathetically, as if he wholeheartedly agreed, but internally he was committing the words to memory. Like any child, the blonde knew the importance of knowing all the things the adults say not to know. There would be many an uproar when it was revealed to the king just how many curses his young son could say.

And so began the tedious task of climbing down the tree.

The blonde, of course, clambered down easily, as if it was mere stroll in the park, but the wizard was having much more trouble.

He kept getting stuck amidst the jutting branches, his long grey beard the perfect material for things to be caught in. Many times he readjusted himself in an attempt to escape the grasping twigs, only to drop his staff. Many times, he let loose a stream of curses, only to remember just whose company he was keeping and hastily cut off.

Legolas was not paying much attention either way, for he began to clamber up and down the tree in repetitive patterns, laughing gaily as he climbed to the very top before skittering to the very bottom once more, watching all the while as the wizard made his slow struggling way down each and every branch. Occasionally, the youth would be forced to reach out and grab the staff as it fell to the hard earth below.

At last they reached the base of the tree, the wizard out of breath and grumbling and the elfling excitable and ready for his adventure. With eager hands, he grabbed onto his companion's hand and started to tug him along, anticipation coursing through his veins. He was desperate to be in the outside world after his endless imprisonment; it had been far too long since he had last breathed the fresh air of nature and danced amongst his beloved trees.

And so off they dashed, rushing to the forests that surrounded the palace and exploring the well-tread gardens. They danced under raging waterfalls and counted the roses, played with the small critters that came out at night and clambered up tree upon tree- or at least, Legolas did, and Gandalf watched on with amusement.

And when at last the elfling began to tire, small fists coming up to rub at sleepy blue orbs, the wizard suggested a bit of star watching under the cloudless sky. They found themselves a small clearing and lay themselves down, youth tucked up under the elder's arms. The Grey Pilgrim told stories of times long ago, voice low and soft, and soon Legolas was fast asleep, eyes glazed in reverie.

And soon after that, Gandalf dropped off as well, unaware of the frantic search that would commence come morning.

* * *

Frantic was the search indeed, for King Thranduil had tired of keeping his son locked away and was worried of his child's health. He had come to the door that sunny morning, happy to say that Legolas' punishment was over and that he may go outside and play- despite the fact that his hair was still a brilliant pink- only to be met with an empty bed and an open window.

The king immediately suspected the wizard, for only Gandalf could smell so strongly- and horridly, in his humble opinion- of pipeweed, but he was not sure. For while the maia was due to the forest kingdom sometime that day, there were other options of who had taken his son. Men, Dwarves, all sorts of horrible creatures. And they _all_ smoked pipeweed. *

King Thranduil was never one for uncertainty, _especially_ when it came to his son.

And so the search parties were sent out, wave after wave of frantic elves all searching for their beloved prince. Especially guilty were the guards who stood by the elfling's door, for they had noticed no intruder and had therefore failed in their duty.

In the end, it was the King who found the troublesome pair, and even the adorable sight of his slumbering son could not stop his cold fury over the wizard's meddling. He was very quick in their awakening, although his glare softened when his child latched onto him in an eager hug near instantly upon awakening, excitedly telling of all their adventures in a series of jumbled words.

(In truth, it was not his intent to leave Legolas to his own devices for so long. Indeed, he had come nearly every night to check in on the elfling, only to find him already asleep. He saw no point in interrupting, and so he quietly kissed the golden head before going on his way.)

Thranduil listened as the young blonde described the increasingly dangerous midnight adventures, his quiet hums of acknowledgement becoming more and more intense the more perilous the activity became. All the while Legolas remained oblivious to his Ada's mounting ire, and all the while the King glared at Mithrandir, promises of pain burning in his icy blue orbs.

Gandalf listened to the young blonde's description with apt attention, avoiding the piercing stare sent his way as much as possible, for even a maia had the right to be terrified of Thranduil when he entered one of his more... _protective_ moods. (The bright pink hair did _nothing_ to lessen the terror.)

And when at last the blonde had gone silent, breathless from his constant stream of words, Thranduil nodded and calmly explained to him that while it was good that he had fun, he had broken the rules, and would therefore have to be punished. When Legolas' face fell, desperation creeping into his eyes once more, and asked if he would be locked up again, the king said that, no, he would not, but would be helping out in the kitchen for a few weeks instead.

Here the wizard frowned, for he felt some guilt in getting the young prince in trouble, and gathered enough courage to speak up.

"Come now, Thranduil, it is partly my fault that Legolas left his room at all, surly-"

He was cut off by the king, whose gaze was focused on the child in his arms and whose voice was casual enough, but there was a layer of steel beneath those words, and Gandalf dared not go against it.

"I know. That is why you will be helping him."

Gandalf said nothing, even though the king _technically_ had no right to lay such punishment on him, and nodded solemnly along with Legolas.

Which was how he found himself in the kitchens a few days later, alone except for the young blonde by his side- who was chatting up a storm about all the fireworks he had seen throughout the years- and chopping various vegetables as Legolas stirred the pot.

He was scandalized to hear that the youth had only seen fireworks made from men, and thought them the best to have ever been. With his old gruff voice, he informed the young elf that his fireworks were- in fact- the best, and that he would prove it so the next time he had a chance to make some.

The blonde was saddened that he would not be able to see such glorious fireworks, and the short wait he would be forced to sit through seeming to stretch for eternity in front of him. Then an idea popped into his mind, and he perked up.

"Gandalf?"

"Mmmhmm?"

"Do you think we have the right things to make fireworks here, in the kitchen?"

The wizard frowned, his hands stopping their motions and his mind whirring through all the different things he had seen in the kitchen thus far. Then a smile lit up his own face and he placed down his knife- for truly, he was tired of chopping vegetables- and faced the smaller.

"I do believe they do, in fact, have all the necessities. We may just be able to make the basics of the formula, though we will have to light it outside…" **

Legolas was no longer paying attention, for his excitement had bounded upwards and his anticipation had reached new height. His attention span could no longer wait a few measly seconds to listen to things as ridiculous as safety! There were fireworks to build!

"Let's do it then, Mithrandir! Please!"

And so they went, rushing around the extensive kitchens in search of the perfect ingredients. When at last everything was in their make-do pot, Gandalf left for just a moment in order to grab his staff- which was responsible for all the marvelous shapes that his fireworks would form- leaving the young blonde alone in the room.

At first he stood patiently, tapping his toes on the hardwood floor, but then he spotted the tools the cooks used to start their cooking fires. He knew not their names, but long had he wanted to try and use one, although he had never been allowed. With curiosity his key motivator, Legolas reached out and grabbed them.***

The wizard entered just as the first spark hit the pot, he rushed forward, but he was too late, and there came a loud explosion.

Guards rushed into the kitchen, their panicked footsteps coming to a halt as they entered.

For there was no pain or crying, only an elderly gentlemen and a young child sitting on the floor, laughing at the momentous mess they had caused, their faces black with soot and their clothes beyond recognition.

The floors and the walls and the ceilings were stained in soup- which had sat, quite forgotten, throughout the whole business- and remnants of the powder. Various vegetables strewn about, and a bag of flour had tipped over and covered the entire kitchen floor with a fine layer of white. Acrid smoke rose from the make-do pot, black and thick and far more disgusting than pipeweed.

(It would be over a century before they were able to completely get rid of the smell.)

Needless to say, Legolas was banned from the kitchens for all eternity, as was Mithrandir, and they were never allowed to set foot in those halls again.

As for Thranduil, once he had heard the news- and had made sure his son was safe and sound- he simply sighed and decided that no matter what he did, his son would find trouble. He did not try and punish the young blonde for the kitchen fiasco, simply burying his head in his hands and allowing his bright pink hair to form a curtain.

And so Mithrandir led Legolas on many other adventures that warm summer, all of them outside and amidst his beloved trees. They explored unseen crooks and crannies, found new paths and shaped new stories, that would one day be told many a time around campfires and in songs.

But those are other tales, and they are for other times…

For now, we end with the image of a young Legolas Greanleaf tucked under the arm of an old Grey Pilgrim, explaining the stars away and all of their mysteries….

 **...**

 **Tada! The end!**

 **Notes:**

 ***** Just in case you didn't understand, the peculiar smell Legolas woke up to was Pipeweed

 ****** To all you people who are like Whaaaat? to the ingredients for fireworks in the kitchen part: I assume that Gandalf would have some of the necessities on him, the times and worlds are different and we have no idea what Gandalf might use to make his fireworks, and I personally have no clue how a firework is made. Also, elves are strange; you never know what might be lurking in their kitchens!

 ******* I CAN'T REMEMBER THE NAME OF THE FIRE STARTER THINGSSSSS! It was mentioned in The Hobbit, I remember, but I honest to God cannot bring to mind what the dwarves- and I'm assuming the rest of Middle Earth as well- used to start fires. If anyone knows or remember, please tell me and I'll add it in...

 **So yeah, there you go! It's not exactly as I pictured it to be, and I might come back later and fix it up, but for now I think this is good. :)**

 **For everyone out there reading this, reviews are always welcomed but never required, and I'll accept any advice or help you have to give.**

 **Thank you for reading this everyone! I hope you liked it as much as I loved writing it!**

 **-The Mashpotatoe Queen**


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